Master, May I?
by Yxonomei
Summary: [AniObi, slash, almost non con] It's not that Anakin doesn't know the meaning of no, because he does, he just doesn't accept the limits of others, especially those of his Master.


**Warnings:** Slash, AU, angst, consent issues bordering on non-con., possibly disturbing scenes and/or content  
**Pairings:** Anakin/Obi-Wan  
**Rating:** Mature  
**Disclaimer:** Owned by Lucas, et al.

**Summary:** It's not that Anakin doesn't understand the meaning of "No," because he does; he just doesn't accept other people's limits, especially those of his Master.

A/N: Be forewarned—this is a peculiar child of a peculiar brain. Whether the reader may find anything worthy of approbation, the author cannot say—except that she hopes the reader will show enough human respect and dignity to refrain from sacrificing her upon the alter of the reader's indignation. Thank most kindly for your time and for, if you may be so inclined, a memento of your visit. The author is, as always, the humble and pitiable servant of your entertainment.

* * *

**:Master, May I:**

* * *

_Track 1_

* * *

"Master, may I fuck you?" 

Obi-Wan pauses, fingers poised to pick up a datapad from the stack on the tri-legged steel-and-glass table by his elbow, and sighs.

"No, Padawan, you may not." He completes the aborted motion to retrieve the datapad and deliberately does not look at Anakin.

The young man has been watching Obi-Wan from his insouciant sprawl across the common room's braided rug for the better part of ten minutes—coursework and anything passably academic forgotten in favor of trying to burn a hole in his Master's forehead with his eyes, a truly annoying sensation that. Obi-Wan, for his part, has been waiting patiently for Anakin to voice whatever seems to be diverting him from his studies this time.

Honestly, he will never understand the thoughts that go through his Padawan's mind or from whence they spring. This vulgar proposition is the latest peculiar notion to percolate in Anakin's brain, and Obi-Wan is less surprised than he ought to be. After all, the young man only says these sorts of things to discomfit his Master and test the limits of their relationship, and Obi-Wan knows this all too well, having become partially inured to Anakin's little verbal prods and probes since his Padawan hit puberty with a vengeance.

Another thing Anakin has taught his Master is that a simple "No" never suffices.

"Why not?"

Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi has been gifted with a singularly tenacious Padawan. Already he can feel the incipient ache of another migraine behind his eyes and in his temples.

"Masters shall not engage in sexual relations with their Padawans."

Anakin also possesses a hungry, sometimes predatory, intellect that is utterly incapable of blind faith or quiet acceptance. He must dissect everything with a true mechanic's fascination for how an apparatus—whether physical or theoretical—works and which parts do what and why they cannot do something else. If I twist this or tweak that, will it all fall apart? Can I improve it? Change it? Augment it? What purpose does it serve? Is it obsolete?

How many times has Obi-Wan told him that the Force and the Code cannot be understood through the application of machine-logic? Some things cannot be dismantled by the intellect and put back together again with the expectation that they will be the same as before. Anakin is of the mindset that if he has all the right parts and knows how they go together that he will end up with an astromech every time; after all, that is the logical conclusion. Thus, it is no great wonder why he evinces such frustration and incredulity with he gets a cleaningdroid or water purifier instead. The application of A does not necessitate the outcome of B.

"What if the Padawan in question is of the age of consent and _wants_ to engage in sexual relations with his Master?"

However, understanding all this does not ameliorate the pinching in Obi-Wan's temples or the ache behind his eyes. Master Roddels' treatise on the origins of strife within primitive aquatic cultures becomes incomprehensible gibberish—Anakin would no doubt call this an improvement. Obi-Wan issues another sigh, this one heavy with resignation to the inevitable, and finally meets Anakin's penetrative gaze.

"The answer remains no and will ever be no."

The first pebble of dread settles to the bottom Obi-Wan's stomach when Anakin smiles—no, _smirks_—like that. The insolent quirk of the left side of the young man's generous mouth, the rakish tilt of his dark brows and the calculating glint in his gem-hard eyes all indicate one importunate conclusion: Anakin is thinking, and not for the benefit of his beleaguered Master.

"What if the Master has no choice in the matter?"

A second pebble drops, rattling up against the first, chilling him. Obi-Wan can feel the blood throb in the delicate tissues of his temples to the carefully regulated drum of his heart. He must maintain calm in the face of his Padawan's deliberate words and oh-so mild tone.

"What do you mean?" I don't want to know. Really, I don't.

The young man shrugs carelessly, resting his chin against the heel of his left hand while he twirls a translucent stylus between the fingers of his right. So casual. So unconcerned. Such an actor. The smirk melts into an enigmatic grin and Anakin lowers his eyes—more to hide his laughter than out of deference for his Master's reproving frown, Obi-Wan is sure.

When Anakin looks up again, his eyes are soft and young and his expression is gentle.

"Master, may I turn in early tonight?"

Obi-Wan feels no compunction against taking the coward's way out of this awkward and unpleasant situation.

"You may."

He does not even call the young man back to clean up his academic clutter, so eager to be free of his Padawan's presence just now is Obi-Wan.

"Good night, Master."

And Anakin used to be such a sweet, unassuming child, too…

* * *

_Track 2_

* * *

"Master, may I kiss you?" 

A two day reprieve, but all good things must come to an end. Sadly. Regretfully.

Anakin's question once again finds Obi-Wan in the middle of another attempt to digest the circuitous and tangential theory of a long-dead Master while sitting on the common room's small couch. Anakin, however, has taken up position behind the couch. With his long arms crossed atop the couch's back and his head cocked at an inquisitively coquettish angle the young man stares fixedly at Obi-Wan's mouth; said mouth is now a straight, pale line of burgeoning exasperation.

Obi-Wan tosses aside his datapad, well aware that he will accomplish nothing when Anakin gets in this mood. If only his Padawan could divert some of this tenacity and singular attention to his studies, perhaps then he would get more than passing numbers. Anakin dislikes doing any more work for a class he finds boring and irrelevant than he has to in order to pass, and nothing Obi-Wan has said or done seems to effect any change. It isn't because his Padawan is lazy or unmotivated; the young man simply has definite opinions concerning what knowledge is useful to a Jedi and what isn't, and learning obscure poetical formulae in dead languages is one of the things Anakin has deemed unimportant, which is what he should be doing now instead of bothering his poor old Master.

"No, you may not kiss me."

Granted, Obi-Wan himself has never found a need for obscure poetical formulae during a mission, but the fact remains that he might. Anakin holds no subscription to remote chances and doubtful probabilities—unless these chances and probabilities feed off of the fears the young man is still unable to master.

"What if I don't kiss you on the mouth? Is that okay, then?"

The question, "Where else would you kiss?" slips out before Obi-Wan's mind can check his incredulous tongue. The shivery, almost breathless laugh that spills from his Padawan's mischievous mouth lets Obi-Wan know that Anakin is going to _enjoy_ enlightening him. Perhaps, he isn't as inured to the young man as he previously prided himself on being.

The pebbles are back, only larger and wholly disconcerting.

"All over. Anywhere you want me to, Master. Anywhere."

Oh dear…

"Yes, well—"

"I could kiss your feet."

For a moment white static fills Obi-Wan's head and he is blessedly free of any sort of mental image, but then cold, harsh reality reasserts itself in a rude rush of imaginings. Anakin regards him with hooded eyes. The smirk is back.

"No. There will be no kissing—anywhere."

Was he ever this difficult with Qui-Gon? Obi-Wan scratches the angle of his jaw and levels his best quelling glare at his impudent Padawan. Certainly, he was never this obnoxious in his youth. Perhaps a bit strong willed, but within reason.

"Is there a rule against kissing?"

Anakin always has to be excessive. Finite limitation is not a concept he adheres to. Instead, he runs headlong after that ineffable "more," always racing to catch up with himself.

"Between Masters and Padawans there is."

The young man makes a thoughtful noise and looks away, still smirking, still unrepentant.

"How boring," the young man murmurs.

* * *

_Track 3_

* * *

"Master, may I hug you?" 

This time Anakin has planned his attack to coincide with the moment Obi-Wan steps out of the 'fresher after this morning's 'saber practice. In the process of knotting a towel about his waist, Obi-Wan stops short and stares at his apprentice. It seems the siege is not over yet.

What is the young man trying to accomplish? What bizarre goal is in his head? Perhaps Obi-Wan should recommend a visit to the Healers, just to be on the safe side. Who knows? Anakin may very well have a malignant tumor slowly destroying his brain, which is a very plausible reason for he recent preoccupation with becoming intimate with his old Master, at least in Obi-Wan's opinion. He honestly cannot think of any normal-Anakin reason for his Padawan to be like this—well, except for possession by ancient Sith artifacts, but Anakin hasn't come across any recently as far as his Master knows.

"As with those imprudent questions you have been asking me this week, the answer is no. No, Padawan, you may not. Now, if you will kindly allow me to pass, I will leave you to get cleaned up."

Anakin quirks a brow and sucks meditatively on his bottom lip. He has already removed his tunic and belt, and now his trousers threaten to fall from his sharp hips. Usually, Anakin chooses to undress in privacy—most likely a vestige of adolescent insecurity and awkwardness—so today's sudden display is rather… disturbing, especially paired with this round's question.

"You never objected when I was little. You even let me sleep with you when I had nightmares."

Poking and prodding, testing the limits, probing for a weakness or a soft spot, this young man is on a mission. His insatiable mind wants something, and Obi-Wan senses that a line between them is about to be crossed and irrevocably broken. Hopefully, it won't be too painful, and, when the storm passes, they will be able to achieve a new level of solidarity. This is just another of Anakin's phases. We've survived the ones before and so we will of this one, Obi-Wan assures himself.

"You are not a child anymore, Anakin, and, considering where your mind has been all week, I doubt you are seeking the comfort of a child."

"Is there also a rule against Masters hugging their Padawans or Padawans hugging their Masters?" The young man's voice is sharp, the tilt of his chin and the crossing of his arms aggressive, demanding. His mercurial mood has shifted. The end of this war is nigh.

"There is not. However—"

"So, I may hug you if I want to?"

A sigh pulls itself from the older man's chapped lips.

"There is also the issue of whether or not I want you to, Padawan, and I do not."

All emotion drains from the young man's face with alarming alacrity, leaving a machinelike inscrutability behind.

It is a stone that now weighs down Obi-Wan's stomach. He schools his features into neutrality and meets his apprentice's blank look.

"Please step aside, Anakin."

"Yes, Master."

* * *

_Track 4_

* * *

"Master, may I touch you." 

Obi-Wan clenches his teeth and continues to write a response to the Council's latest query. There can't be too many more of these questions, right? Anakin has to run out or become bored sooner or later. Obi-Wan just has to weather this. Perseverance is the way of the Jedi; Force-shoving your Padawan out a window is not, even if a little defenestration might do said Padawan some good.

"Master?"

"I think you should meditate." I think we both should. "And, no, you may not."

* * *

_Track 5_

* * *

With a suddenness that is vaguely nauseating Obi-Wan awakes, eyes focused and mind sharp. A disturbance… 

"You never did answer my question, Master."

Anakin. Always Anakin… Why is he not surprised? In fact, he is more surprised by his lack of surprise, and that is rather worrisome. Then again, he has more pressing matters to be concerned about.

"Anakin, it's the middle of the night. Please, please tell me you haven't decided to continue with your ridiculous line of questioning?"

Kneeling by his Master's sleep couch, half-clothed and strangely alert, Anakin stares down at Obi-Wan with bright eyes. His restless hands fist the mused bedclothes as the Force crackles about him with barely banked intention. Ah, so this is the end, then. Finally. Obi-Wan supposes he can indulge his Padawan this last time, and then assign him a month's worth of ritual meditation under the guidance of Master Windu.

Levering himself up on one arm, he rolls onto his side to better observe the young man.

"Well?"

"What if the Master has no choice?"

Obi-Wan's blood freezes and his heart gives a sickening lurch against his ribs. He swallows around the sudden constriction in his throat, and the chill turns into a feverish heat, burning through his body until he feels he should be glowing from the intensity of the blood concentrated in his cheeks. Dear gods…

"That is not up for discussion, Padawan."

"You're right." Anakin leans forward, face curiously blank and eyes lambent with dark flames. "Discussion is boring. Talking is boring."

Intent born in action. Disaster.

Obi-Wan slaps away the hands that reach for him, the beginnings of true anger seeping into the corners of his mind. By the stars, what has gotten into Anakin? What has possessed him? Is he on drugs? Something worse? Such a feral, driven creature cannot be his apprentice. With a guttural snarl, the young man throws his weight forward and struggles to capture Obi-Wan's flailing limbs.

"Stop this, Anakin. This is not the time for your games," Obi-Wan hisses, shoving against the other's implacable chest as he scrambles away.

"May not. May not. But you never said I could not. I can, Master, and this is no game." Hard hands close about Obi-Wan's left ankle and drag him back across the cramped space of his sleeping-couch.

"Go to your room, Padawan. Go to your room and meditate."

Anakin pauses, shakes his head like a frustrated beast, and throws off his Master's Force-command. Grunting and snarling, sweat sticking thin sleep clothes to damp skin, they fight and wrestle. Cloth tears, flesh bruises, and soon this bizarre confrontation tumbles to the floor in a flurry of flailing limbs.

Obi-Wan, unwilling to go beyond the defensive and risk seriously injuring his Padawan, soon finds himself at a disadvantage. Anakin has always favored an aggressive position, consequences be damned.

Breath stolen by a solid blow to his stomach, Obi-Wan finds himself flipped over and pinioned facedown on the floor by Anakin's greater weight. The rough nap of the carpet abrades his cheek as he futilely attempts to move, lungs seizing inside his chest, the feathered edges of asphyxiating desperation brushing his mind. White-static shock. This cannot be happening. Anakin pants harshly above him, and Obi-Wan can almost taste his Padawan's shock and elation at having come out the victor.

"Padawan—"

"Shut up, Obi-Wan."

The hard body above him shifts and the boney knees digging into his upper thighs slide down between his legs. Anakin eases his grip on his Master's wrists, but does not release him. Aside from the minute trembling of his tensed limbs Obi-Wan remains motionless. An unnatural calm fills this violence begot moment. Their breathing quiets, their heartbeats synchronize as if they have fallen into joint meditation, and they are almost Master and Padawan again, two halves of a continuous, harmonious whole. Complementary.

"I can touch you," Anakin says, lowering himself down upon his Master's back, burying his face in the sweaty strands of the older man's hair and shifting his hips in a not-so-subtle roll, dragging the hard line of his erection against Obi-Wan's ass. "I can hug you and kiss you. I can fuck you, Master. I can do all these things, whether or not your vaunted Code says I may. I can love you if I want, and I do."

Anakin curls about him, suddenly seeming far younger and more vulnerable than he has any right to at this moment. Obi-Wan closes his eyes and wishes for there to be some way to wash away the stain of this night from time's course, but this strange new form of their relationship's evolution is indelible; it cannot be erased or reversed. They can only continue on from this point, navigating the precarious and oft obfuscated path before them—but to where?

And why is the Code always Obi-Wan's whenever Anakin doesn't agree with what it says?

"Whatever this is, it's not love."

"How would you know?"

I don't. I don't know. I've never known. Is this what all your questions were about? Is this the "more" that your heart will never let you forget?

He does not say any of this. He closes his mouth against the confused jumble of words. They have no meaning. They lack relevance, and Anakin is always so cruel to anything lacking relevance.

"I can't be what you want me to be. We are Jedi."

"That's why I'm going to make you be what I want and what I need." A light kiss falls upon the nape of Obi-Wan's neck. "Not right now, but soon. If I force you, then the guilt will be mine alone. They will judge me, and I will not bend."

"You will break, Anakin."

"I am the Chosen One. I am the will of the Force."

* * *

_End Track_

* * *

"Master, may I?" Anakin breathes in a whimpering, demanding exhalation of hot breath as he presses the older man down into the loamy soil of this secluded section of one of the Temple's many gardens. Obi-Wan turns his face away from the hungry mouth seeking out his own. Strong fingers grip his chin and jerk him back, nail digging in, marking him with red crescents, as Anakin steals his "No" with lips, tongue and teeth. 

It's a luxury—indecent and internecine—to be forced, to be taken and fucked and used; to have his refusals and denials drowned in kisses like sweet liquor; to have his body become the main course in a decadent banquet of unending rapacity. He's never known… He fights and struggles, and he is beaten down and subdued. He cannot always be strong, cannot always be the one in control. He is only a mortal—fragile and transient within the currents of Life.

He is only a man—and Anakin is the Chosen One, a child of the Force trapped in a wanton fantasy of absolutes, dichotomies and dialectics. How can one not bend, and break and be reshaped before the Will of the Force?

Just a man… and has anyone ever allowed him to be just a man before?

* * *

End

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End file.
